by David Meyer
I continued my search for Tad. Nobody, not even Porter and his friends, spotted me. They were too busy enjoying the festivities.
Meanwhile, Wadflow, Norch, and Galison finished up their salads, soups, and appetizers. Dirty plates and bowls were piled back up on the floating trays, which then whisked their way back to the wall chutes. Silver trays arrived soon after, adorned with covered dishes.
Galison removed the lid from a tray and sniffed the contents. I couldn’t see it, but I sure could smell it. It was a bacon-wrapped cut of filet mignon along with salted, buttery potatoes. I salivated just thinking about it.
“Cook it,” he told the tray. “Medium-rare.”
The food, showered with enchantments, began to emit tiny, heatless sparks. Quite quickly, the filet mignon was cooked to perfection. Although we’d prepped the meat in advance, various spells were required to keep it fresh. Some magicians weren’t fond of enchanted food. They considered it unnatural. But since it made my job easier, I loved it.
The assembled guests fell quiet. Confused, I watched Galison gain his feet. He stared out over the crowd, his visage full of grave certainty. “Welcome,” he shouted. “To the Victory Feast!”
People went bonkers. The faculty remained seated, applauding loudly. Students, meanwhile, stood up in their chairs. They clapped and cheered and hooted at the top of their lungs.
With the crowd distracted, I hustled to the nearest loading platform. I climbed aboard a chair and it whisked me out into the Grille area. Sticking close to the windows, I circled the backside of Torso, my eyes peeled for Tad.
“First things first,” Galison continued. “As many of you know, Professor MacPherson is an esteemed outdoorsman with a keen interest in sacred mountains. To further his research on the subject, he has decided to scale Arizona’s Superstition Mountain. As such, he will be taking a temporary leave of absence. Professor Norch will assume his professorial duties for this semester.”
MacPherson was well-liked by his students and I saw plenty of crestfallen faces amongst the crowd. The cheers faded away. The students sat down again.
“We here at the Roderick J. Madkey School of Magical Administration wish him all the best. Now, let us return to the matter at hand.” Galison stroked his jaw. “This fine meal we share marks the official beginning of the second semester. But it also marks something else, something far more important. The first Victory Feast was held many years ago, way back in 1930. It was held to commemorate a victory. The victory.”
The students remained quiet, listening to every word with rapt attention.
“I remember it like it was yesterday.” He glanced around Torso, his eyes wistful. “This is where it happened. This is where the Philosophical War, for all intents and purposes, reached its conclusion.”
The crowd was absolutely silent.
“Up until the 1920s, magic was almost entirely a Chaotic pursuit,” he reminded the crowd. “But a few of us, led by Lanctin Boltstar, had begun to question the old ways. We saw the dangers inherent in boundless magic. And so, we proposed a new path, which became known as Structuralism.
“We fought an uphill battle for several years. But with time, we began to convince others of our righteousness. Soon, the Chaotics could no longer ignore us. And so, their leader, a rather cowardly man by the name of Boris Hynor, challenged our beloved headmaster to a debate. It was to be held here, in the glorious halls of the Roderick J. Madkey School of Magical Administration.
“We arrived on this very day, way back in 1930. We came seeking peace and understanding. But the Chaotics had other ideas. They saw us as a threat to their power, their very way of life. And so, without warning, they launched a vicious and deadly attack.”
He paused for a moment. Deep lines etched their way across his face.
“The battle raged all throughout this great room,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “Somehow we managed to repel the ambush. Under Lanctin’s flawless leadership, we regrouped and launched a counter-attack. When the smoke had cleared, the Chaotics were pretty much finished.”
Breaking their silence, the crowd hooted and hollered. And why not? The defeat of the Chaotics was, without a doubt, the single greatest moment in magic history.
“That night, badly injured and feeling low, we raided Madkey’s kitchen,” he said once the cheering had died down a bit. “We threw an impromptu meal, which helped us to momentarily forget the horrid events of that day. That meal became an annual tradition. And that tradition morphed into what we now know as the Victory Feast.”
The crowd roared its approval.
“With Structuralism came a whole host of new things. Formal schooling, available to all, was introduced. Small businesses consolidated into the Big Three, allowing safer and more sensible products to reach the marketplace. Magical remnants of the old world—the Floating Abyss, for example—fell into disuse and were replaced by more efficient enchantments. And through it all, Lanctin Boltstar’s popularity reached epic heights. People begged him to take power, to rule over us. But true to his nature, he wished to dedicate his remaining years to the youth. And so, he assumed the position of Madkey’s headmaster.”
The roar died down. Stifled, excited whispers took its place.
“Without further ado, please welcome the greatest magician of this or any other age. The scourge of the Chaotics, the hero of Structuralism.” Galison’s voice took on an admiring edge. “Lanctin Boltstar!”
Everyone, even the faculty, climbed on top of their chairs this time. People whistled, clapped, shouted, hollered, and cheered. The sound was almost deafening.
I knew I needed to keep looking for Tad. But the moment was just too big to ignore. So, I halted my chair near the windows, halfway between Mid- and Upper-Torso. My gaze turned to the Mid-Torso bridge.
The headmaster’s door opened wide and Boltstar appeared in the frame. His short hair, a distinguished salt and pepper, was mostly covered by a black derby cap. His goatee and mustache, also salt-and-pepper, were neatly trimmed. For clothes, he wore a long-sleeve yellow collared shirt, topped off by a black bow tie and a brown herringbone wool vest. A pair of brown herringbone trousers covered his legs.
The noise grew even louder, so loud I could barely think. And when Boltstar leapt onto his chair, the place went nuts.
“The last thing any of you need is to listen to the prattling of an old man,” he announced, a broad grin stretching across his face. “So, I’ll keep this short and simple. Thank you for being here today.”
The crowd roared again, the noise reached an all-new high. Boltstar played to them, encouraging even more excitement. And they responded with such applause that I was forced to cover my ears.
He waited for the noise to quiet down again. Then his grin turned into a smile.
“Now, enjoy the rest of the feast,” he said.
The crowd voiced its approval. Meanwhile, new trays soared to the faculty section and settled into place. From my vantage point, I could just make out Professor Lellpoppy as she pulled the lid off of an oversized tray. Her eyes grew wide as she surveyed plates and bowls of doughcream, cakes, pies, ice cream, and other assorted treats.
A shadow caught my attention. Glancing up, I spotted movement near the Upper-Torso bridge, just inside Left Arm’s entranceway. My gaze narrowed. Was that Tad?
“Kell! Kell! Kell! Kell!”
I shifted my gaze to the Junior section. Kell Masters stood on his chair, a bottomless goblet in his hand. It didn’t weigh much, but his muscles were steeled anyway. With tremendous concentration, he started to turn the glassware upside down.
Bottomless goblets are a staple of Madkey dining. They’re specifically enchanted so as to provide an endless supply of drink. Obviously, such a goblet could create quite a mess. That’s why they’re also enchanted to return to an upright position when not being held aloft.
Students and faculty alike twisted toward the scene. The chant grew louder.
“Kell! Kell! Kell! Kell!”
Lip curled, he turned the mug upside down. A small torrent of soda poured out of it, soaking the table cloth. Gritting his teeth, Kell struggled to keep the goblet aloft. But the force of the flowing soda was just too much. Suddenly, the goblet wrenched its way out of his grip. It reverted to an upright position in a split-second, landing neatly on the table.
The crowd laughed and applauded. Kell, his face red from exertion, took a few mock bows before plopping back into his chair.
I figured he’d held it aloft for maybe one or two seconds. That was par for the course. No magician could hold an upside-down, free-flowing bottomless goblet for long. The enchanted flow was way too powerful.
I was so busy watching his strong-man stunt that I nearly missed it. But as a pack of students crowded around Kell, a tawny hue caught my eye. Tawny was Tad’s color. Clearly, he was casting a spell. But why?
Are you crazy? I thought. Are you trying to get caught?
The light, thin and barely visible, crested forth from the Upper-Torso bridge. Something was positioned at the front-end of the light, something small and round and contained by a soft glow. That caused my eyebrow to arch. It looked like he was moving something across Torso. But what? And where was he sending it to?
The object zoomed across open space with no one the wiser. Holding my breath, I watched it veer toward the Freshmen section. Then the light blinked out and the object splashed into Porter’s bottomless goblet.
The faculty continued to enjoy their desserts. A large portion of the students were still focused on Kell. The rest had turned their attention back to their plates, eager to finish their food before the annual Philosophical War reenactment. Nobody else had seen Tad’s spell. That was good. Maybe I could still salvage this.
A zapping sound, soft yet discordant, rang out. It was followed by a series of frenzied splashes.
Soda bubbled up inside of Porter’s bottomless goblet and started to overflow the edges. My eyes widened as I realized what Tad had dropped into it.
The fizzer.
Liquid spurted into the air. It came faster and faster, like some super-powered geyser. In mere seconds, soda splashed onto dozens of people.
Porter and his friends, their jaws slack, kicked their chairs away from the table. Faculty and other students turned to see what was happening. For the most part, they seemed excited. And why not? They probably thought it was another performance. But I knew better.
The airborne soda gained volume and speed at a terrifying rate. It became a veritable tower, reaching all the way up to the ceiling.
What have you done, Tad? I wondered, my heart filled with awe and trepidation. What have you done?
Chapter 12
With a mighty ripping noise, the tower of soda broke apart. Brown liquid crashed over all of Torso. Ducking my head, I managed to weather the blow. Others weren’t so lucky.
Royce Miller shrieked as a jet of soda knocked him off of his chair. The sound of brilliant music vanished as Moses, Lola, and Madhuri lost their balance as well. Students and faculty alike plummeted toward the black mist. Their ever-vigilant chairs raced off to save them.
The service doors flew open. Fyla and the other watchers hurried out onto the Lower-Torso bridge. But a giant wave of soda sent them tumbling across the stones.
Other staffers, including Leandra, emerged from Shadow Madkey. Pounding waves swept them out into the Grille area, where chairs caught their shaking, shivering bodies.
Even the sheer force of the fizzing soda couldn’t upend the enchanted goblet. But it did cause it to spin in tight circles. Moments later, a particularly vicious rotation sent it shooting off the table. With soda spurting in all directions, the bottomless goblet fell past tables and chairs. It slipped through the black mist. Utilizing the mist’s conveyance energy, it emerged from the mist along the ceiling, spurting soda the entire time. It dropped like a rock and fell through the floor mist before shooting out of the ceiling mist all over again.
I peered through the dense storm of fizzing soda. Floating tables had been knocked askew. Trays of fallen food were tumbling repeatedly through the mist. It was pure bedlam.
The students and faculty were in even worse shape. I saw a wave catch hold of Kell and send him careening into Calvin Hayes. Sya got blasted off her chair and slammed into an upended table. Professor Sadie Whitlock reached for her wand, only to get ripped clear off her seat by a vicious geyser. Nobody was spared. Even Boltstar, still situated on the Mid-Torso bridge, got sprayed from head to toe. But unlike the others, he didn’t look worried.
Following his gaze, I realized he was watching Porter’s goblet as it repeatedly dropped through the floor mist. Undoubtedly, he was trying to figure out a way to stop it.
A dark shadow fell over my chair. Peering up, I saw a tsunami of soda cresting high above me. Heart pounding, I kicked my legs and zipped through the open space, searching for refuge.
A jet of soda crashed into me. The chair twisted and turned, bucking me off my perch. Immediately, the chair turned to catch me.
My lungs emptied as my stomach smashed into the seat. I lay still for a few seconds, stunned, as more soda slammed into me. And that’s when I caught my second glimpse of tawny-colored light.
Feeling exhausted and beat-up, I peered at the Upper-Torso bridge. Tad stood just behind the railing, his wand stretched outward, a tawny jet flowing toward the Grille. The streak started to weave, wrapping its way around the space. It continued to stretch and curl, enclosing everything, even the black mist at either end. I recalled how he’d always made me feel uncomfortable. Like I couldn’t quite trust him. Apparently, my instincts had been on to something.
More soda smashed into me and I found it hard to think. What was he doing? And why?
I shook away the cobwebs and something occurred to me. Yes, his spell was encircling the Grille. But it was also encircling the ancient conveyance station. The station that had once allowed access to and from the Floating Abyss.
Was that his target? The station?
Prior to its abandonment, the Abyss was the sole means of transportation between magical realms. Adventurous witches and wizards used to travel through its inky, shadowy folds in search of new lands. But these days, travel is a cinch. All you need is humdrum transport and permission to cross the occasional enchanted border.
Waves crashed down on top of Tad, but he didn’t move an inch. His wand remained steady and his spell continued to envelop the old station.
My brain screamed at me to get clear, to seek safety. Let Boltstar and the faculty deal with Tad. But at the same time, I felt something urging me on, driving me to confrontation.
I directed my chair forward and upward. A burst of soda knocked me back down. With liquid stinging my eyes, I noticed that I was close to the Mid-Torso bridge. Rising to my feet, I leapt for the railing. Immediately, I knew I was going to come up short. But a sudden burst of soda propelled me onward.
I crashed onto the bridge. A vicious jet of soda sent me skittering across the stonework. Blinking liquid out of my eyes, I scrambled to my feet.
Slipping and sliding, I entered a hoist. The gate closed over and it rocketed toward the ceiling. As my stomach surged into my throat, more soda crashed over me.
The hoist came to a jarring halt. The gate slid open and a nasty voice yelled, “Upper-Torso. Get out before I throw you out.”
Dazed, I stepped outside. A fine mist of soda sprayed me in the face. Shielding my eyes, I looked at Tad. He stood at the railing, fifteen feet away. His posture was firm and tall, oblivious to the bedlam that surrounded him. His tawny light, meanwhile, had completely enveloped the ancient conveyance station.
I grabbed my wand out of its holster. The stick felt old and brittle, like it might break at any moment. I found myself wishing I’d brought MacPherson’s wand with me.
A sideways geyser knocked the air right out of me. Somehow, I managed to struggle forward.
“Tad!” Jets of soda struck my shoulders as I drew within shouting distance.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t even acknowledge me with a look. “You shouldn’t be here, Randy.”
I had no plan, not even an inkling of one. And I certainly wasn’t a fighter. Heck, I didn’t know so much as a single havoc magic spell. But that didn’t stop me from jabbing my wand into his back. “Holster your wand,” I growled. “Or else.”
I caught a glimpse of the reddish dirt on his clothes, the same dirt I’d seen on MacPherson’s clothing. Right away, I realized the foolishness of my actions. Tad had, in all likelihood, attacked MacPherson. He’d put the professor to sleep, somehow. How could I, a dropout, defeat someone with that kind of power?
His free hand snaked backward. It grabbed hold of my wand and he yanked it out of my sore, tired fingers. Without fanfare, he tossed it onto the bridge.
I stared blankly at it, then at him. “Why?”
“Just go. You don’t want any part of what’s coming.”
“What are you talking about?” I shook my head. “What’s coming?”
“I—” He paused as a mid-sized wave crashed over us. Through it all, he held his wand perfectly steady. “I’m not who you think I am.”
The tawny light began to pulse and throb. Slowly at first, before picking up steam.
I froze, at once fascinated and horrified. From a certain perspective, this was a thrilling moment. The conveyance station had been sealed for decades. If Tad was opening it up, the Floating Abyss would be within reach. What was it like in there anyway?
The waves of soda began to ebb. Then they vanished altogether. Peering down, I saw Boltstar. He stood on a floating chair, wand in hand. Cyan-colored light connected it to Porter’s goblet. Ever so slowly, the light crept over the drinking glass, capping it fully.
The waves vanished, leaving a receding sea of soda flowing within Torso. Galison, Wadflow, and Norch climbed onto floating chairs. Flying out into the open, they attacked the liquid with spells, causing it to evaporate into steam.